Part and Parcel
by LittleGreenBudgie
Summary: It's just another routine mission for Lord Uther, but that still doesn't stop Matthew from trying to say goodbye. MatthewLeila


"I'm sorry, milord, but can you please repeat that?" Leila said. Her voice remained calm, but her pulse quickened.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Lord Uther said. "You won't be in a warzone, at least. You know that the Black Fang have been causing trouble up and down Elibe for the past year or so, and they could very well spell trouble for us."

"And that's where I come in," she replied, but she bit back her other thoughts. All of Bern felt like a warzone in recent days, Uther's technicalities be damned. Its wyverns' wings darkened its skies and its king's ambition darkened its future. He executed soldiers for treason that didn't exist and kept his court filled with supplicants that jumped at shadows for fear of a royal knife between their shoulder blades. Equal parts a challenging shout and a cry for help, Bern's politics made the strong shake at the knees and the weak fall to kiss its frozen soil. It was the last place any sane Lycian wanted to end up.

Leila was the best in the business, though, so she folded up her fear and unease into a tiny square and threw it unceremoniously into her mind's fire. Any emotion that had touched her face burnt up with it.

"I look forward to it, milord."

"Good. All the information on the job is in this packet. You depart the day after tomorrow," he said, sliding a bundle of paper towards her. Leila pocketed it. She would look it over in detail later that night, after she'd finished her other duties. It wasn't necessary to read it to know the gist of the job, though—it was impossible to sneeze in Castle Ostia without interrupting someone's conversation on the Black Fang, especially after their role in the Caelin power struggle eleven months prior. Uther needed something dangerous, something that needed precision and a steady hand. A hard job for one person. She would have to watch herself to avoid becoming just another statistic, another unidentified body in Bern's back alleys.

Leila pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind, neatly compartmentalizing them for when she would actually need to worry. Instead, she thought of what needed to be done, and headed to the castle armory. Her weapon of choice, a curved steel dagger inlaid with silver mesh along the crossguard, needed to be checked for damage and whetted until it was sharp as her lord's tongue.

It passed the weapon master's inspection with flying colors, and after a short while at the whetstone, its sharpness satisfied Leila, as well. Her weaponry taken care of, she walked to the castle library to learn as much as she could about Bern.

The master scholar, a bear of a woman with acid-green hair, pointed Leila in the direction of the Bernese culture books. Ostia kept a good collection on foreign affairs, perhaps the best in all of Lycia, and it took her the better part of an hour to find the information she needed among the sea of books. As she settled in to read, she realized she wasn't alone; she felt eyes on her, and she could hear the faint sound of muffled breathing. Leila kept her posture loose and relaxed, and she didn't look up from her book, but her free hand slowly found the hilt of her dagger. Her body would block the movement, and the chair would keep her watcher from seeing her bring her feet under her, preparing herself to fight.

She counted out one beat, two, before she spun around, knocking the chair to the floor. Her knife was poised to slash, not parry, and she stood light on her feet, knees half bent and eyes narrowed.

Matthew grinned back, hands held where she could see them. She let out her breath and sheathed her dagger.

"How many times have I asked you not to do that?" she demanded.

"I know, I know," he sighed. "You're just so beautiful that I can't help but stare."

"You know it makes me nervous. You're not stealthy enough to get the jump on me. One of these days, I'm going to stab first and ask questions later, and then you'll wish you'd listened to me."

"If that happens, I'm afraid I'll be a bit too cold and stiff to wish anything, if you get my drift. Or, worse, I'll actually fight you back," he said, drawing his dagger, flipping it, and catching it.

"I tremble in my boots," she said, unable to help her smile.

"There we go! That's what I was looking for!"

She rolled her eyes and righted her chair, slipping back into her seat. Leila usually didn't care for turning her back on anyone, but she knew Matthew better than she knew the spy trade. Besides, she had been far more vulnerable with him before, his mouth at her throat, his hands at her chest, his skin warm against hers; letting him pad up behind her, steps soft as snowfall, as she read through analyses of Bernese slang meant nothing in comparison.

"Bern, huh? That's an awful place for a job," he said.

"We're spies, Matthew. Awful work is the norm for us."

He chuckled.

"Isn't that the truth? Getting threatened at knifepoint feels like a vacation compared to some of the messes we've been in. I'd still rather not get stuck in Bern, though."

"It's a good thing it's me and not you, then. Remember, I infiltrated the mage general's court a few months back, and that was with Lord Pent himself holding audience with me. A few weeks in the cold aren't nearly as dangerous as that."

She didn't tell Matthew that Lord Pent was a smiling, friendly man who gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. Mage general or not, he hadn't offered even a ghost of a threat, and had prepared her and the other visitors roast boar, freshly hunted by his wife. Leila highly doubted that the Black Fang would bring her sweetmeats or rich red wine, or that she would have nearly as comfortable accommodations. A straw bed on the floor of some moldy old fortress, maybe, if she was lucky. Matthew was never any good at seeing through her, though, and he only patted her on the shoulder.

"You're right, as usual. You'll knock 'em dead. What exactly is the job, though?" he asked, sliding into the seat across from her. He leaned back so that the front legs lifted off the ground.

"Nosy, aren't you?" Leila said with quiet laugh. "Aren't we supposed to be spies? Cloak and dagger, secrecy, never trusting a soul…Does any of that ring a bell?"

She knew it was a poor comment when he arched an eyebrow at her. Matthew always had been better than her at directing a conversation where he wanted it to; she was only good at lying. It was why Lord Uther generally sent Matthew out on the quick jobs, talking his way into something and disappearing just as easily, like a field mouse into its burrow. She was better-suited to slow build-ups, her patience and plain looks allowing her to become anyone she needed to until the job was done. She was also better-suited to combat than he was, probably in part thanks to her time as an alley-basher before Uther scooped her off the streets and cleaned her up. Fighting prowess wouldn't help her much when Matthew put on that disapproving look, though, and she sighed.

"It's nothing of consequence, really. I'm supposed to gather some information on a band of thugs out in Bern. That's all," she replied. Matthew would surely worry if she told him the full truth. Oh, he would pretend he didn't care, but he would drive himself half mad trying to make sure that she would be okay. Uther would say that he was just old-fashioned like that; Hector would say he was just neurotic. Regardless, in their line of work, they couldn't afford distractions, so she just smiled reassuringly.

"Seems easy enough," he conceded.

"Certainly. I'm only reading up on my Bernese vernacular to fit in a little better. Nothing special."

"So, when are you heading off?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"Were you planning on saying goodbye?" he asked casually, insecure as only Matthew could be. She always told him that he had a romantic's heart underneath that devil-may-care façade of his. It touched her to see the way he leaned forward, half smiling, watching her every move.

"You know that I wouldn't leave without telling you," she replied with a shake of her head.

"Good to know," he said. He leaned even farther, nearly falling out of his chair, bringing his face close to hers. Leila sighed and kissed him. Matthew always closed his eyes when they kissed, needy and breath coming quick and shallow; she never could manage to handicap herself like that, so she watched him, watched the way his nose crinkled and his eyebrows squished together.

She was always the one to break it, too, leaving him eyes-closed and lips-parted for a heartbeat before he snapped back to reality. Leila could already feel the seed of loneliness put out a tiny root inside her heart. A dozen missions while involved with him, and every time, she missed him a little bit more. A week or so in, and she'd find herself dreaming about that alleycat way he walked, back foot dragging a moment before he took another step. Two, and she'd catch herself from composing banter in her head, focusing hard on the way he grinned, sloppy and toothy. Three, and she'd stop herself from running her fingers over the little white scar along her forearm from the time he'd cut past her defenses in a practice fight. Leila tossed the thoughts out of her mind and focused on Matthew before her, charming, handsome Matthew, who had no idea how strongly she would miss him.

"I'll see you when I get back, I promise," she said.

He flashed that cocky, wonderful grin of his.

"All right, then. You go out there and don't come back 'til you've conquered all of Bern, okay?"

She smiled back, shutting her book. Her nerves over the job had been settled somewhat by trying to keep up with Matthew's energy; oh, she was still concerned that Bern would be a lawless mess, but she could certainly handle it.

"Sure thing."


End file.
